Daddy
by Purple-Rosie
Summary: Because all we have ever wanted is to be able to pass on our love and our legacies. Come what may, our children are our greatest gift...Indirect sequel to Brothers in Spirit Drabble-ish. No pairings. Indirectly Hanna's POV.


Hello, Everybody!

Once again, the plot bunnies invade and take over my brain. I should be working on other stuff, I really should. I'm so close to finishing this other story but instead I chose to let my self be inspired with this. ((sigh)) Oh well, it gives me something to submit while I'm writing.

Everyone seems to think that Hanna will die unmarried and childless – which is pretty in-character for him, actually – but I tend to have a 'what if?' streak. Plus, the thought of Hanna with a daughter is just about the most adorable thing _ever._ I mean, come on! I'd want him as my father. Or my brother. Speaking of which, this is an indirect sequel to _Brothers in Spirit._ That story has now become the basis of all my head!cannon. Yes. Yes, indeed.

Get ready for face-melting cute.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hanna is Not a Boy's Name, nor any of the characters/locations therein. I do, however, own the little girl and the story.

* * *

Daddy

The house is dark and silent. The night cool and peaceful as it envelops the sleepers and the dreamers that have succumbed to its embrace. It is eleven o' clock, time for rest.

He stumbles groggily out of the bathroom with every intention of heading back to his bed and resuming his previously unconscious state. He shuffles down the hallway. As he passes a door that has been left cracked open slightly, he pauses. A smile creeps its way across his face. The light is out.

A tiny voice calls out from the shadows beyond the door, sweet and innocent and heart-warming. "Daddy?"

He pushes the door open more and sticks his head inside the small bedroom. "Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing awake?" he asks softly as he squints to see his little girl sitting up in bed.

"I couldn't sleep," is the answer.

He pushes his glasses up a bit further onto his nose and slips into the room. He crosses to the bed; she scoots over to allow him room to sit. "You know, you really shouldn't be up this late, you've got a busy day tomorrow." He can't help but ruffle her fiery-red hair, so much like his own, and smile in a way that only a father can.

She giggles at his touch. "I know, but I'm too excited." He presses a kiss to her hair, starts to tuck her back in, but she doesn't lie back down. "Daddy? Daddy, the light went out. Can you fix it?" She points to her nightstand where the reading lamp sits dark.

She doesn't need a nightlight, she's never been afraid of the dark or the monsters that hide within it. She learned long ago that there is nothing to fear. Sometimes, Galahad even sits at the foot of her bed, keeping watch just like he used to do for him years ago. The glow of his eyes forever warm and comforting.

But he knows that she likes to read late at night. He grins at her. "How about this instead?" He picks up a box of markers that she has left on her bedside table and pulls one out. With practiced ease, he scribbles an old familiar symbol onto his left palm. The strokes are fluid, seamless. When he's finished, he puts down the marker and holds out his hand for his daughter to see.

He concentrates. A soft blue glow starts to form on his skin, growing in brilliance as it spirals lazily into the air like smoke. His daughter opens her mouth in awe, watching the magic take shape. A crane. A pretty little origami crane. Just like its paper brothers that hang from strings above her bed. It flutters its ethereal wings, flitting from his hand to circle around the both of them. They watch as it alights on her lamp and comes to rest. The wings of blue light twitch. The room is bathed in its magical glow.

His little girl turns to him with the most delighted, most adoring eyes she can. She always loves it when he does magic. He feels his heart swell with pride that he can put that look on his daughter's face. With just the simple act of casting an illumination spell. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her close.

She snuggles into his hold, smiling. "Daddy, will you tell me a story?"

He knows that it is late and that she needs to be asleep, but he just can't say no to her; just can't say no to his precious little girl. "What do you want to her?" he asks her.

"Tell me the one about how you met Uncle Connie."

"You've heard that one a hundred times," he chuckles.

"But I like that one. Uncle Connie's funny."

He can't help but laugh in agreement. So he tells her. And soon one story becomes another and he is telling her all about the ghost in the theatre, regaling her with tales of times not-so long past.

"…and then I shot the crowbar out his hand and said, 'ghost dude, if you don't get out of him right this minute, I'm gonna mess you up somethin' fierce!' " He's holding out his arm as if he had just fired the bolt from his story, when the door opens and in steps his older brother.

"What are you two doing?" Galahad's voice is soft, monotone, as always, but there is a hint of amusement hidden beneath the words.

He jumps a little, startled at being caught mid-tale. He turns to his daughter and they share a sheepish look between them. "Uhm, well, story time."

Galahad just shakes his head and moves forward. "Come on. It's way past both your bedtimes."

The little girl pouts and it is adorable because it reminds him so much of himself. "But I'm not sleepy."

"You will be tomorrow," the dark-haired man answers in his quiet voice. Gloved hands gently press her tiny body back against the pillows and tuck the covers up around her chin.

Those same hands come up to rest on his shoulder and begin to guide him to stand. Before he does, though, he holds out his arms and grins down at his child. "Hug?"

And she shoots up out of the carefully tucked blankets to wrap her arms around his neck. He pulls her close to him, closing his eyes and smiling as he holds her against himself. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispers.

"Goodnight, Daddy. I love you."

"I love you too."

And with that, he lets himself be led away from his daughter and out into the hall. As Galahad closes the door behind them, he sighs happily.

His brother walks with him back to his own room, gazing down at him with what he interprets as mock disapproval. "You're spoiling her, you know, letting her stay up like this."

He scratches at the back of his neck and yawns. "I know, but I just can't say no to her." And he does know it, too. He knows he can't. He was just thinking it earlier.

Galahad chuckles; the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. "But isn't why you made me her godfather? So that I could be the responsible one; say no when you couldn't?" He cocks his head in an unspoken mirth.

"Heh. I guess you're right." He smiles genuinely up at his friend, his brother. There is a moment of silence between them. Then, slowly, he raises a hand and pats an orange-sleeved arm. He fells like hugging him, but thinks it would be a little strange, so lets it go. Instead he just nods and turns to disappear into the darkness of his room. "Night, man."

"Goodnight, Hanna." And there is a smile in that.

He stills just inside the door, waiting for the other man to head back down the hallway. He follows him stealthily to his daughter's room. He peeks in through the crack of the hinges and watches as his brother tucks the child back in. Watches him lean down and plant a kiss on her, supposedly, sleeping forehead. The clock on the table ticks to twelve. "Happy birthday, little one," he hears him say. He grins behind the doorframe.

Just as his friend is about to leave, hand over the glowing blue crane to snuff it out, a tiny voice whispers, "Galahad? Did you really get possessed by that ghost man?" And her godfather looks back over his shoulder to nod at her. "Will you tell me about it?"

Galahad opens his mouth to deny her, to tell her it is late and that she should sleep.

"Please?"

Even Galahad Cross is no match for the girl's sweetness. He can see the orange light from his brother's eyes soften and a smirk crawl along his face. From his limited view, he sees the man exhale unnecessarily and move to sit down beside his godchild. "Okay, but you have to promise to go to sleep after this, got it?"

"Got it!"

And as Galahad's deep voice begins to murmur the tale, he rolls away from the door to lean his head against the wall. He closes his eyes.

And smiles.

* * *

So, I do not know who the daughter's mother is. Maybe it's Toni (doubtful) or the Purple Raver Girl from my _Phonic_ stories. Or maybe it's somebody else entirely. For that matter, I don't even know if Hanna is married or a widower or _what._ Did he get a divorce; is his wife/girlfriend back in bed oblivious to this all? No idea. I have a head!cannon solution for it, but I'd rather not share right now as it is incomplete.

Also, the daughter is named Phoebe, by the way. Phoebe Cross. Like the sister from Charmed. It's just not mentioned in the story. There's a sequel – as per my usual – and her name is actually used in that. God I love this character.

Musical Muses:

The Lord of the Rings Musical (London Cast) – Now and for Always

The Lord of the Rings Musical (London Cast) – The Road Goes On


End file.
